


Double Date

by LapinPuff



Category: Animaniacs, Pinky and the Brain
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Time Travel, for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:54:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29917890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LapinPuff/pseuds/LapinPuff
Summary: Bored of a future torn by time, Dark Pinky decides to pay his old friend a long-overdue visit.
Relationships: Brain/Pinky (Pinky and the Brain), Dark Pinky/Future Brain (Pinky and the Brain)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 35





	1. Remnant

Arms folded across an armoured chest. Fingers drummed impatiently against gloved wrists. Metal ears flicked in response to phantom sounds. Almost blending into the night's darkness, the creature clad in this edgy ensemble paced back and forth, glowering at nothing in particular as his boots stamped accusatory scars into the snow.

"What's wrong with me?" he growled, nerves drawing the grip around himself ever-tighter. "I wanted this. I know I wanted this!"

He turned, exasperated, to glare at the source of his disarray: nothing more than a hole in the side of the mountain, just about large enough for an average-sized mouse to crawl through, and yet it set his heart pounding. Since when was entering a cave so dreadfully daunting?

Since you killed the one who lived in it, idiot.

Pinky groaned, and his hands instinctively flew to his head to grip and tug at the greying pelt.

It just wasn't fair. He had managed to convince his concerned lackeys to keep their distance for once, hoping some alone time would clear his head. On the contrary, he was still drowning in thoughts, so many thoughts, wriggling and writhing like ravenous worms in the mud of his skull. They all belonged to him for once, and perhaps that made it worse.

The mouse rubbed irritably at his temples, almost able to feel the pain bubbling beneath the metal-coated flesh. Like radio static, the stinging gradually settled back to its usual dull buzz.

"Righto," Pinky muttered, straightening up. "I wanted this. Poit."

He approached the cave entrance with a rekindled sense of determination, and assured himself that the thudding in his chest was now born from excitement rather than fear. Fear...he almost laughed at the very idea! Dark Pinky didn't feel fear. Not anymore.

The darkness pooled around him as soon as he stepped within the cave, embracing his shivering frame. A part of him begged to relish the sensation in silence, but Pinky wasn't the type to listen to his head. Instead, he followed his heart with a smirk, launching into a well-practiced, dynamic pose; his cape spilled around his shoulders, his tail arched like a dagger, his eyes narrowed and his teeth bared.

"It is I, Dark Pinky! Emperor of the world! Denizen of the darkest depths!" he announced loudly. "Narf! Man and mouse alike bow before me in trembling awe!"

His own voice bounced back at him in a chorus of happy little Pinkys. The following silence was colder than the snowflakes lingering in his fur, but the real Pinky shrugged it off. His dramatic entrances never had quite the same impact without an audience around. Regardless, he made a show of dragging his freshly-sharpened nails across the walls of as he strutted further into the cavern just in case someone would eventually see it. Marking his territory, he decided with an internal laugh.

But egad, his nails were getting a good filing, because the walk was surprisingly long. Pinky sighed. It was just like his frenemy, to make an over-complicated headquarters out of a mouse-sized hole in a mountainside. It was secluded enough as it was, tucked away in an area too cold for inhabitants, but of course that old dork had figured out some evil-genius-esque way to keep his body temperature working even in glacial conditions. Or something. Pinky wasn't great with science.

He was great when it came to mouse-things, though, a fact he had once held high above a certain someone's head. Pinky raised his snout and sniffed the air. The aroma he detected was a thick combination; strange, dank, musty, bittersweet, all at once, melting into one and yet dividing into more. Pinky was able to pick up on two particularly prevalent odours—the metallic perfume of both oil and blood. His knees grew weak.

Eventually, he hit a dead end in his stroll. Literally hit it, which probably left a dent or two in his headset, so he made a mental note to see a mechanic as soon as possible. Or his costume designer, he supposed.

For now, Pinky leaned against the wall, teeth gritted. Pain never bothered him (in fact, he sort of liked the stars that sparkled when he banged his head), but the aching in his chest was a little trickier to deal with. Whatever it was, he wished it would go away already. Dark Pinky didn't mope.

His paw trailed to the stone surface beside him, and as expected, it brushed a groove. Pinky paused, then barked out a short, dry laugh. Oh, his old friend was so deliciously predictable! The mouse's fingers twitched, and the wall slid apart in two directions, almost like elevator doors.

It took a moment for him to adjust to the artificial light which flooded his vision, and even when he did, Pinky was stuck in place with sheer surprise. He blinked, wondering if this was another one of the hallucinations he had grown accustomed to over the years.

Because surely this wasn't where his enemy...his friend...his Brain...had resided for all this time? And yet, in a stomach-churning way, it only made an increasing amount of sense as Pinky took it all in.

It was the kind of living space that the owner had never fully settled into. The kind of living space one had been forced to flee in a hurry, albeit without much sentimental hesitance. The furniture was sparse, and made up of items which must have been scavenged. There was a rusted sardine can serving as a supply cupboard, a salt sachet for a cushion, a stained dollhouse table-set housing food powder packets, and a matchbox with a sheet of scrap fabric for a bed pushed into a corner. Egad, this was pitiful. Pinky's nose wrinkled in disgust.

At least the decor was slightly more interesting, and served as a welcome distraction from Pinky's growing unease. There were newspaper clippings and photographs pinned to the stone walls, spilling onto the ground, and even clipped to the ceiling. Pinky plucked one from the floor. His own face, albeit printed black and white, grinned up at him from the cheap paper.

"Emperor Dark Pinky's Latest Triumph; Overthrows Despised Dictator."

The headline was from so long ago that present Pinky couldn't even remember doing anything to warrant it. He rolled his eyes, tossed the sheet aside, and moved on.

He approached the table, which was set with a thimble of coffee knocked over in what he assumed to be a past struggle. Dark liquid pooled across the plastic. Pinky was well aware that someone would chastise him for doing so, but they weren't around, so he dipped his pinky (the favourite finger, naturally) into the spilled drink and brought it to his lips. The taste was distantly familiar. It must have been...ah. Ice cold mochaccino. Of course.

The storage should be less predictable, Pinky reasoned as he headed for the sardine can. The lid was easily peeled away, revealing a mess of miscellaneous junk inside, and he wasted no time in rummaging around, unearthing everything from crumpled blueprints to scrap metal. As he threw the trash aside, his mood quickly soured.

"My Brain would never have kept things so damn messy..." muttered Pinky, a wave of animosity washing over him. He continued to root through the supplies, anger quickly replacing melancholy, and found the words tumbling free before he could bother to stop them. "My Brain wasn't this sad. My Brain wasn't this pathetic. My Brain would never give up and hide himself away in some sad little mountain basement. MY Brain is..."

Pinky stopped with a sudden, sharp exhale, like a fish dragged out of water. His body froze up.

He hadn't been willing to finish that sentence, and even if he had been, the item he had just pulled free from the can was keeping those words firmly lodged in his throat. With an admittedly trembling grip, Pinky held it up.

It was a tiny blue and green orb, hanging from a metal chain. Faded and darkened by time, yet carefully polished. Just the right size for a little mouse. Pinky lurched against the can. He wondered if he was going to be sick.

"Pull yourself together," he hissed, dropping the globe as his vision swam. Again, his hands found his forehead, massaging the sharply stinging skin there. "You can't bring him back. No. Troz! You don't want him back."

The unsettled mouse pushed away from the storage can and stumbled towards the matchbox bed, which he slumped against for support. His mind was growing cloudy again, and not in the pleasant way. If he weren't careful, he'd give in to his feelings sooner or later. Been there, done that—it never worked out well.

Despite that, Pinky found his gaze lingering on the pathetic excuse for a bed, to his own dismay. Knowing it was where Brain had slept every night for the past...very long time...made Pinky's insides ache in something akin to guilt. He knew he should be satisfied to discover that the big-headed rodent had been living egregiously since their rivalry began, and yet...it just made him feel worse. He hated it.

His paws found the cloth that served as bedsheets. They dug in, fingers curling, absent-mindedly petting the fabric. If Brain were here, he would be laughing. Mocking Pinky for the unyielding sentimentality that clearly remained even after all these decades. But he wasn't here. Nobody was here. Nobody was around to see.

So, unwilling to let his heart starve for any longer, Pinky quickly buried his face in the bedsheets. They were cold, abandoned, but the warmth that reignited in his chest more than made up for it, and the smell would have set him sobbing—if he were the sobbing type nowadays. The scent was more than old laundry. It tapped into memories Pinky hadn't realised he still possessed. It was Brain. The scent was The Brain.

And oh it was wonderful. If Pinky closed his eyes as tightly as possible, he could almost see him. Remember him.

Cuddling close after a nightmare or failed plan or gruelling test, Brain murmuring about tomorrow nights and how he was only allowing the embrace for Pinky's sake.

Explaining a plan with a glint in his expression, eagerly awaiting the applause he knew he was always guaranteed to receive.

The hopelessness etched into his features as he watched the world turn against him. Watched Pinky turn against him. The crown slipped from his head.

Staring at Pinky in a silent, horrified plea, half his face matted with blood. His remaining arm writhing, reaching, begging...

Metal against metal. Glare against glare. Friend against friend. Violent desperation melting into longing.

Soft and warm, even when the words he spoke were biting and cold. Sweet and bitter, both sides as beautiful as their counterpart.

That was The Brain.

Pinky tried to cling to the scent for as long as possible. Perhaps a little too long, because he opened his eyes and found himself face-to-face with a blinking red light and a head half-formed by metal. Pinky let out a sound halfway between a cry and a gasp, then stepped back in alarm.

"Oh dear. What's the matter, Pinky?" Brain's image flickered and faded at the edges like an old photograph, but his voice was steady. The cape he wore, which flowed without a breeze to carry it, dipped in and out of the world like a glitch in an old video game. Brain observed Pinky's horrified surprise with an expression caught somewhere in the middle of pity and amusement.

No. Dark Pinky was never pitied. His teeth gritted together of their own accord, eyebrows furrowed.

"Ah. I've seen that look stain my own features in many times passed," Brain said simply. "However, I'm afraid it's a little too late for you to have regrets now."

Pinky stared at the spectre. He blinked incredulously. "Regrets...regrets about what?!"

"Ridding of me."

"Oh." Pinky slumped a little. "You're not...I don't...you're...narf."

"Narf indeed. You crave a mouse who know longer exists, Pinky. Your immortality will be nothing beyond a chore without him." Brain tilted his head and smiled. "Without me."

"No. No, it's your fault!" retorted the taller mouse. "I had to do it. The world wanted you dead, and I wanted to make the world happy. I did the right thing. I know I did the right thing. I know what's right. Yes!"

Brain scrutinised him for a moment, then sighed. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, old friend."

"It's true!" Pinky snapped. "And it doesn't matter, anyway. Zort! Because Brain is...you're dead. I couldn't bring you back even if I wanted to. And I don't. Want to, that is."

The Brain didn't break eye contact for even a second. "Incorrect as ever on both accounts, my feeble little friend."

Pinky scoffed. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me loud and clear. I believe even you can figure this one out. Use that fogged head of yours for once. Surprise me."

"Shut up," snarled Pinky. "Shut up! Stop talking like that! You're not him! You were never him! I didn't–"

"Now, now," Brain said coolly. "I think it's about time you woke up. I doubt it's healthy to daydream about the very rodent you slaughtered in cold blood, Pinky. Or, sorry, what was the ridiculous title you selected for yourself...?" This twisted Brain placed a finger to his chin in mock-thought, then produced a sardonic smile that made Pinky's blood run cold. "Dark Pinky, wasn't it? Ah...truly the epitome of creativity."

"Wait. Stop. Don't—"

The very composition of Brain's face was melting now. Bones peeked through the blurring flesh.

"No. No!" Pinky lunged forth and tried to cling to the rotting mouse, but his grasp phased right through. A choked yelp escaped his throat. "Brain! I'm—"

"Pinky."

Warm paws found his face, but he could scarcely feel them. As Pinky gulped back sobs he would rather die than admit to, tears trickled freely down his cheeks. Brain's icy animosity seemed to trickle away with them, and a gore-laced smile replaced the glare. For just a second, he looked remarkably like Pinky's old friend.

"You know what you have to do."

And with a crunch of invisible innards, Pinky was tossed back into reality. He let go of the sheets in alarm, as if they were woven from poison ivy, and sat up quite frantically. The Brain's smell disappeared in rhythm with his faux cadaver.

Of course it wasn't real. It was never real. Nothing was anymore.

Not even the hot dampness at his cheeks, Pinky decided. He straightened out the fabric of the bed, even tucking in the corners for good measure, but couldn't find a reason to leave, as undoubtedly foolish as it would be to stay and wallow. Dark Pinky never wallowed...

...well, maybe tonight could be the exception. Pinky hastily rubbed at his under-eyes and collapsed onto the bed.

Only to immediately spring up again, frowning, because something hard and unpleasant had disrupted his moment. He directed all his pent-up rage onto the strange object as he reached to retrieve it from under the covers, only to freeze upon contact. His fingertips had brushed something cold and metallic.

He pulled it out.

It was a weapon. A gun. The very gun Pinky had plastered on wanted posters across Earth, offered a ridiculous reward for, last spotted in Brain's grip moments before a swirling green vortex swallowed him whole...

"Jackpot."

Pinky held the device up to the light. The surface was clean enough to reflect his own grinning face.

In that moment, the world around him was meaningless. The planet he ruled meant as much as the debris at his feet. Pinky was almost afraid to breathe, in case he snapped himself out of whatever dream he had fallen into.

Experimentally, he raised the weapon, aimed it at the bloody residue on the wall, and fired. A vivid, lime-green bullet was launched, hitting the wall and tearing through it, replacing the fluttering papers with a glowing rift. Pinky carefully got to his feet and approached for a better look. Inside the hole, though it was more like a window upon closer inspection, was a top-down view of a cage. Pinky swore he had seen it before, but it was anyone's guess as to where or how. Even so, he would take any chance he got to drag himself out of a slump, so did the thing he was best at. He threw back his head and cackled theatrically.

Full minutes passed, an ecstatic Pinky launching bullet after bullet, a hundred different images distorting the world around him. More and more portals, each one leading to a different location: fast-food restaurants, busy workshops, jungles, horses in stables, an inexplicable amount of cages...it was chaos. And if there was one thing Dark Pinky could proudly declare he loved, it was chaos.

It was only when a high-pitched, monotonous sound pricked his ears that he stopped and lowered the gun, glowing with joy. Between pants, he let out one last laugh, then flicked his ears to tune into the signal. 

"Yes?"

"Emperor Pinky, sir," a voice replied, fast and frantic. "We're picking up on some strange readings in your immediate area. Are you okay? Do you require assistance?"

Pinky watched with a curious smile as the vortexes flickered out of view one by one. He leaned against the wall and ran a gloved hand through the tuft of fur at his head. "Nah, I'm fine. More than fine...I'm amazing."

"Are you certain, sir?" said the lackey. They were audibly growing anxious.

"Please. When am I not?"

"Right. Yes. Well, if you're really okay, I can still send a party to collect you. Your schedule says that you—"

"I'm afraid you'll have to cancel today's schedule."

There was a beat of silence at the other end. "Pardon, sir?"

"I said cancel."

"Oh. Um, of course, Emperor. But..." They swallowed. "If it's not too insolent to ask...why? You...you never cancel."

"This is far more important than whatever I've got on tonight's to-do list. To put it simply..." Pinky twirled the gun in his hands. His expression slowly darkened, and a triumphant smirk curved his lips. "It looks like I've got a date."


	2. Warmth

"Egad Brain, I've got a date!"

"As you have shared repeatedly for the past two hours, Pinky. I'm beginning to wonder if I'll hear those words in my sleep."

"Oh, I know," giggled Pinky. "But I'm just so excited, I can't keep it inside! Troz!"

He continued to twirl gleefully around the cage, practically bouncing off the walls; even more than usual. Apparently, this was the sort of energy that not even a run on his beloved wheel could suppress. 

The Brain, on the other hand, was hunched over a mess of blueprints, scribbling and scrawling with pen in paw. His entire body drooped from an unfortunate mix of the usual sleep deprivation and a particularly sour mood. Pinky's incessant elation had bordered on endearing for the first five minutes or so, but by this point it was just worsening a dehydrated headache. It was probably for the best, Brain thought, that his own fatigue was preventing him from snapping at Pinky with the regular gusto.

The taller mouse poked his head out of the cage bars, inspecting the clock fixed to the wall opposite. He let out a delighted gasp. "Oh, goody! There's not much time left until I get to go out!"

"Goody indeed," grumbled his friend.

Pinky glanced back at Brain, detecting something was amiss. He circled back to his friend's side, flopped next to the blueprints, and surveyed them with a clueless smile. His legs kicked in the air as he began to speak.

"Y'know, I really am terribly sorry that I have to sit out of tonight's plan, Brain. I'd stay and help out if I could. Really."

The Brain paused for a moment. "Yes. No matter, my friend," came the eventual reply, though he pretended to be too focused on his plans to look up. "I understand how important...erm, socialising...is to you." He cleared his throat. "Besides, I believe I'll be able to get significantly more work done without you around to bother me."

It came out harsher than intended, but Pinky laughed it off, as pure-hearted as ever. "Can't argue with that. Zort!"

The Brain checked the progress of his diagram. It was a scaled-down version of an invention he had been musing over for weeks now, something that could finally land the world in his control. Not to mention revolutionise transportation if/when he became the global ruler, which would both improve life on Earth and boost his public approval. Brain's initial idea had the device taking on the deceptively simple form of a gun not unlike the cheap sci-fi props Pinky liked to pour over in comic books. It would be portable, compact, and most of all, convenient.

Yet Brain just couldn't get it right, not for the life of him. He was a genius, he was aware and proud of that fact and his blueprints definitely reflected it, but something was missing. A component.

As the stout mouse pondered this problem, a frustrating tapping sound invaded his ears. He shot a wan glare in its general direction, and was met with the exact sight he expected—Pinky tapping his nails against the floor. Brain immediately identified it as the tune of his companion's favourite song: the one he had made up a while back, about being happy, or narfing, or marrying Cher...or whatever. The words had long since wormed their way into Brain's head and refused to leave, but their meaning still escaped him.

"Pinky, stop that," he huffed. "I'm trying to work."

The other obliged. "Sorry, Brain. I was just trying to cheer you up a bit, that's all!"

Brain raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why exactly would I need cheering up?"

"Ah, well, you just seem a bit...on-edge." Pinky smiled nervously. "Sooo, more importantly, are you absolutely, one hundred percent sure you don't mind that I won't be here to help you out or cheer you up tonight? Not even a teensy-weensy, itty-bitty little—"

"For the last time, I don't," Brain lied irritably. "Surely even you can recall the countless occasions at which I held off our nightly schemes for the sake of my own petty endeavors. I believe it's only fair that you are granted the opportunity to do the same."

"Petty endeavours? D'you mean all those times we had to chase after that Billie girl?"

Brain gave Pinky a long, weary stare. "Yes. Just like...Billie." He looked away. "Even so, please remind me in advance next time you desire an evening off. This has thrown our annual schedule into utter disarray."

"Righto. Will do!" said Pinky. He headed off to get ready for the date, humming softly enough for Brain to either not hear or not care.

As always, The Brain ignored this and returned to his rather clumsy illustration of the globe. It was clear who was the artist between them, he thought bitterly to himself. Not that it mattered; when he ruled the world, he would have the finest artists on the planet waiting on his hand and foot. He would watch the Earth flourish under his careful, compassionate rule from his throne room, which would be overflowing with priceless art and solid gold sculptures of himself. Yes. That was the future he would win.

Ah, and Pinky would have to be there too. Brain would rather drop dead than admit it, but he wanted Pinky there. Not to be a heavy lifter, a meat shield or a good luck charm like a younger, crueler version of himself may have claimed, but to be a friend. An ally. A co-ruler.

Inevitably, Brain's attention trailed back to Pinky...and all thoughts of him having any kind of decision-making during their future rule evaporated before his eyes, because the lanky rodent was dragging items into a pile...with his teeth. Quite an impressive pile, really, considering the length of time it had taken to construct, but Brain wasn't in the mood for dishing out compliments. Rather, he narrowed his eyes and frowned.

"How many times must I remind you not to make nests inside the cage, Pinky?"

"Ooh, quite a lot of times, Brain," said Pinky, springing to his feet. "But I swear that's not what I'm doing right now!"

"Alright. Though I'm sure I will regret asking this, just what ARE you doing?"

Pinky beamed. "Finding presents for my date, of course! Troz!"

"Oh, yes, of course. Offerings. On the first date," Brain said flatly. "Very suave of you."

He immediately regretted the word choice, because Pinky's face lit up in something disgustingly akin to excitement.

"Suave? Don't you mean..." The taller's voice slipped into an uncomfortably familiar accent as he leaned back in a playfully sultry pose. "Suuuuavo?"

Brain's blood ran cold. "No. I don't. I really don't."

Pinky broke the act with a burst of laughter. He continued to (quite literally) dig through the pile of potential gifts, tossing any rejects behind him while speaking a mile a minute. "It's just, well, my date mentioned she likes to be spoiled, and I wanna make a good first impression! I mean, you should see her pics, Brain, she's drop-dead GORGEOUS. Plus sweet, and flirty, and funny, too." He tugged an expired ring pop from the heap and blushingly embraced it. The wrapper crinkled in protest. "Naaarf...I think we're truly meant to be."

He recieved a dry eye-roll in response. "Forgive my lack of enthusiasm, but you said the exact same thing about Phar Fignewton, and Winnie, and that catfish, and Drusilla, and—"

"And this time I really mean it! Poit!" Pinky objected. He had discarded the jewelry-shaped candy in favour of a broken chumsicle stick, which he hugged defensively to his chest. "The dating app used its fancy algorithmy thingy and matched us up, Brain, so we must be a perfect match! It said we share a lot of interests. Fashion, diary-writing, magazines, noodles, singing, romcoms..."

"It sounds as if you share a single brain cell, too, to resort to that accursed form of artificial romancing," muttered The Brain. He noticed Pinky's ears drooping a little, silently cursed his friend's impeccable hearing and his own bad mood, and sighed. "However...as long as this makes you happy, I will be too."

Pinky clasped his paws together, ears popping back into place. "Oh, Brain!" 

"Oh Pinky."

Said mouse muffled a delighted squeal behind his paw before laying back in his mound of treasured trash. He flailed his limbs in a mock snow angel as The Brain annotated tonight's scheme.

"So. What's her name?" Brain asked with feigned reluctance.

Pinky smiled. "She's called Minerva. Narf! Lovely name, isn't it? And a lovely girl, really, from that woodland not too far from the lab."

Though The Brain didn't look up, his brow furrowed in concern. "Did I hear that correctly? You're meeting a stranger...in the woods."

"Nah, that's just where she lives, silly!" said Pinky, and The Brain exhaled. "We're heading to a restaurant, the one with the fish on the sign. Hopefully they'll have added pictures to the menu by now."

"Hm. Hopefully indeed."

"It would be dreadfully nice if they stopped making the mac and cheese so stringy, too. Not to mention—EGAD! YES!"

Brain flinched. His paw jerked, slicing up his latest diagram with a thick line of ink, and he swore under his breath.

"Pinky. My plan," he said through gritted teeth.

The tall mouse, still equipped with that unyielding smile, blinked down at his friend's ruined work with the usual nonchalance. "Ah, sorry, Brain! I'll draw a new one for you when I get back tonight. Pinky promise!"

Brain sighed. "Well. Thank you for the offer." He retrieved a spare square of paper from his supplies and set it atop the old one. "Just what were you shrieking about just now, anyway?"

"This!" exclaimed Pinky. "Ooh, isn't it simply beautiful, Brain?"

With both paws, he managed to hold up a human-scale necklace composed of glittering pink beads. Brain recognised it as one of the many (MANY many) items Pinky had retrieved during their regular raids of the trash cans behind the labs. Literal garbage, and yet when Pinky gazed at it, his eyes held almost as much passion as they had for his previous lovers.

"Well, it certainly fits the criteria for aesthetically appealing," Brain said. "But I was under the impression that you scavenged that particular accessory for yourself. If memory serves, you went as far as to say you love it. Why give it away so freely to a stranger?"

"Because pink is her favourite colour and she loves jewelry. Narf!" Pinky explained it as if it were the most simple thing in the world, then smiled warmly. "Besides, it's nice to share, isn't it?"

"Well..."

"And sometimes you have to give up the things you love for the greater good. You told me that once."

Brain hesitated. He couldn't bring himself to agree with such a saccharine ideology, not verbally at least, but was impressed Pinky remembered so many of their throwaway conversations. Brain never thought too hard about the sayings he spewed—he didn't even believe in most of their messages—and yet Pinky seemed to cling to his every word just as tightly as he clung to obscure knick-knacks from the garbage cans.

Lo and behold, Pinky had just finished returning the last of his disembodied Barbie limb collection to its box, cleaning the cage in record time. After a triumphant nod, he checked the clock.

"Gee, would you look at that! I best be off right away or I might miss the next bus. Time flies, eh, Brain?"

"It certainly does, my friend," mumbled the other mouse, half-heartedly crossing something off his plans. "Which is why you should finally leave me alone to get on with tonight's work, if you please."

"Got it! Just one thing left to do, then..."

Pinky raced across the room, rooted around in his makeshift wardrobe (a propped-up sardine tin, to be specific), and pulled on a sweater from within. Its age showed in the faded red yarn, but the letter p emblazoned on the front hadn't yet diminished. Pinky gave it an affectionate pat, reminiscing about its origin. The rather bizarre knitting phase The Brain had gone through had been confusing, but nice, as the plethora of woolly clothing still clogging up Pinky's closet proved. Amidst everything, this particular sweater was his favourite, so soft and cozy. Pinky's eyes glistened just looking at it. He gave himself a tearful grin in the nearest mirror, his heart bursting with pride.

"Pinky, hurry up. You're going to be late," Brain reminded him from across the room. The small rodent was still concentrating on his work, but his voice had been dripping with the kind of thinly-veiled concern Pinky could spot from a mile away.

The excitable of the two felt the tears roll now, spilling from the corner of his eyes. Overcome with emotion, he dove towards The Brain for a quick hug. He recieved yelps, kicks, and violent squirms in return. It was more like wrapping his arms around a cactus than embracing a fellow mouse, but Pinky was too lovestruck to care.

"P-Pinky, put me down immediately!"

"Oh, Brain, I'm just so happy!" Pinky sobbed, nuzzling his cheek into his friend's rather large cranium. "I get to go on a date! And I have a lovely, kind, smart, wonderful friend who lets me take days off, and knits me the cutest jumpers, and makes oatmeal in my mouth, and—"

"That's enough, Pinky," choked Brain, cheeks warming. "You won't have that friend anymore if you crush his lungs and end his life, will you?"

Pinky sniffed apologetically, and The Brain managed to peel himself off the taller rodent just in time to avoid being dropped. "Sorry, Brain."

The miniature megalomaniac merely crossed his arms. His face burned. "Don't apologise. And why are you wearing that old thing for a date?The embroidery is horrendous."

"Oh, but Brain, I love it! You made it specially for me, remember?" Pinky leaned in with fluttering eyelashes."

"Of course I..." The Brain began, only for the words to catch in his throat. They tasted wrong, so he reconsidered. "I suppose I can vaguely recall something like that. Very well. If you're comfortable in it, that's all that matters."

Empathetically, Pinky nodded. He wiped a tear from his eye. The very same eye that suddenly found itself locked with Brain's, leaving the two mice staring at eachother. Seconds stretched by. Brain opened his mouth, only to close it again immediately. Pinky tilted his head a touch. Unspoken words hung in the air around them.

"Right..." murmered Brain. He shook his head, turned away, and raised his voice. "You really should go. Now. You're running late, aren't you?"

"Right," Pinky echoed. He turned away too and retrieved the necklace, which he wound around his middle before ending back at the cage door. "Okay, I'm off now. Wish me luck! I'll be back soon."

"Yes. Be safe."

"I'll try." Pinky looked back at The Brain, and an awful twinge of guilt stung his chest. His poor friend had forced himself to get back to working, and could barely keep his eyes open! He'd pass out at this rate. Pinky's stomach sank. "Um, the food pellets are in the box labelled food pellets, in case you get hungry. I've left some no-bake cheesecake in the fridge, too. I know you like it. Poit."

"Thank you."

"No prob. And, uh, please try to get some sleep while I'm gone. You look absolutely knackered. Um, anyway, bye-bye, Brain!"

"Goodbye, Pinky."

With that, the door clicked shut. Retreating footsteps faded into a silence that seemed to grow by the second.

And The Brain drooped. He let go of his pen and slumped back against the cold cage bars, praying they would cool his flushed face. Pinky's touch lingered on his head and arms and belly and chest. It wasn't rare for that social butterfly to scoop Brain, or anyone really, into a flying embrace, but it never failed to set this particular mouse's heart pounding.

Which was clearly just a natural reaction. Flight or fight. A useless relic of evolution. Brain just wasn't used to so much contact. It meant absolutely nothing.

He looked down at his fresh set of blueprints and audibly groaned. Somehow, where he had intended to draw a mock-up signal tower, an illustrated Pinky looked up at him. Mockingly. Brain's cheeks burned all over again, and he shot the drawing an accusatory glare before crumpling it up in his fist. He hurled it into the corner with a touch more force than necessary.

It still meant nothing.

But, unfortunately, it meant that he would need a new scrap of paper.

Despite his complaining, the future world leader just couldn't find the motivation to do anything. He blearily watched the seconds escape via the clock. Although Brain had rewritten tonight's plans to become a solo mission, and quite a clever one if he did say so himself, somehow it didn't sound very appealing. Without Pinky oohing and ahhing over every little thing he did, how could be know he was doing a good job? Without Pinky fetching him nuts and bolts and loose papers, how could he build his machines in efficient time? Without Pinky, who would he even talk to? 

Suddenly, The Brain shrank in on himself. His surroundings seemed awfully dark and imposing now. And, perhaps worst of all, he was all alone with his thoughts. That was never a good thing.

You're being ridiculous, he reminded himself. It's just one night. You've been separated from him for far longer than that, and you survived, didn't you? You're just dehydrated. And tired. Cease this pathetic little pity party, grab a coffee and draw up your plans. For heaven's sake, ACTUALLY draw up your plans this time, you sentimental fool. Don't you realise what an opportunity this is? A full evening to work without a single distraction. Don't even think about him.

It was that simple. Don't think about him.

Taking the advice of his namesake organ, Brain took a quick detour to the Acme kitchen. It was currently deserted, but the scent of coffee tickled his nose, so Brain followed it to a half-filled glass pot. Using a thimble he had brought from the cage, Brain scooped up a nice, mouse-sized serving of the sugary liquid and began to return to his residence. He took a cautious sip of the beverage. It was stone-cold, but there wasn't really any way to heat it unless he was willing to sacrifice even more precious time. At least it was mocha. His favourite.

If Pinky were there, the coffee would taste undoubtedly more palatable. That mouse knew how to make anything delicious, from the stale donuts left over in the lab's lounge to the dry pellets that were chucked into the food bowl thrice each day. It was a miracle, really.

Oh. Oh lord. Brain smacked his palm into his face, disgusted at himself. His mind was seemingly incapable of evading thoughts of Pinky tonight. He blamed it on their history of spending almost every single day of their short lives together. That or his sleep-deprived state at present, though even that didn't really explain the extent of this attachment. Maybe there really was more to it?

The Brain furiously shook his head at the idea, aghast and repulsed. Surely the coffee would take its affect soon, and he hoped it would snap him out of whatever trance-like state he was in. Until then, Brain would have to snap out of it on his own.

"Don't think about him," he reminded himself, tipping more of the icy drink down his throat.

"Don't think about him," he continued, opening the cage door.

"Don't think about him," he repeated, stepping over the discarded ball of paper from earlier. Taking a deep breath, he dragged his gaze away from the floor.

"Don't think about..."

The Brain's words trailed off. His body froze up.

After all, it was quite a challenge not to think about someone when they were standing right in front of you.

"Hello, old friend."

The thimble slipped from Brain's grasp and clattered to the ground.


End file.
